


the clear air, the shining sea

by simaetha



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, Valinor, reposted from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: Very soon then the fëa and hroa of a Man in Aman would not be united and at peace...Either his fëa would be wholly dominated by the hroa, and he would become more like a beast, though one tormented within. Or else, if his fëa were strong, it would leave the hroa. Then one of two things would happen: either this would be accomplished only in hate, by violence, and the hroa, in full life, would be rent and die in sudden agony; or else the fëa would in loathing and without pity desert the hroa, and it would live on, a witless body, not even a beast but a monster, a very work of Melkor in the midst of Aman, which the Valar themselves would fain destroy.- Myths Transformed, Text XI, “Aman and Mortal Men"





	the clear air, the shining sea

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://simaethae.tumblr.com/post/166773496737/very-soon-then-the-f%C3%ABa-and-hroa-of-a-man-in-aman) on tumblr.

Every day in Aman was beautiful: dawn kindling the eastern sea, the clear air and the mountains, the cities of the Eldar that might have resembled Gondolin, if Gondolin had another thousand years of beauty and peace.

Tuor could not say he was weary. It was like fresh water, or the wind in your face as you set sail, impossible to tire of. It was only –

“Love?” Idril called, and he shook himself, remembering. “I can’t decide on dessert, do you think the peaches, or – “

She was sorting through the storecupboards, looking fretted, a wrinkle between golden brows. Tuor kissed her temple, without thinking, and she smiled.

He did love Idril, very much. Nothing could make him leave her.

“Anything you like,” he said, and kissed her again, before she could complain, trying to laugh, that it wasn’t an answer at _all_ –

***

Dinner melted on his tongue so richly that he could almost forget anything else. The peaches were delicious.

“Are you well?” Elrond asked him, when Idril was out of the room, and Tuor raised his eyes, finding his grandson – looking at him, eyes thoughtful, touched with very gentle concern.

He wondered how many times Elrond had already needed to ask, before Tuor noticed.

“Never better,” Tuor said, stoutly, because it was true, and because Elrond had more than enough to worry over, without fussing about the people who should be looking after him. “Don’t trouble yourself over _me_.”

Elrond made a noncommittal, thoughtful sound, still looking at him, and Tuor braced himself. His grandson was almost too perceptive for his own good, he thought sometimes; but when Idril came back in, looking bright, and began talking about festival preparations – Elrond smiled at him, oddly careful, and allowed himself to be put off.

It wouldn’t last, Tuor thought. And then: but this was Valinor. Everything lasted. The evening, the candles; the peaches, which were always ripening in the endless summer, and always sweet.

***

“ _Tuor_ ,” Idril was calling, and her face crumpled as he looked up.

It had been a festival, or a concert, or the building of a new ship to sail out from Alqualondë – it had been so many things, and his wife and her kin moved through each with easy, endless grace, like the steps of a dance, each day flowing past just like yesterday, like tomorrow.

It was always new, there were so many things, swiftly interchanging. Only –

Had she been saying something? He held out his arms, and Idril came sobbing into them, sniffling wetly into his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he said, and then, struggling – “What is it? I’m sorry, I – “

She was crying. He kissed her forehead, distracted a little by the scent of her hair, the clear day that was dawning, again, like always.

***

He loved Idril too much to ever leave her, and there were so many people, so many things, little Eärendil and Elwing to worry about and the ever-stranger people Elrond seemed so happy to see alighting at the docks –

He was _trying_ , but it was so difficult to remember it all, not to be distracted by the sight and taste of the world, its richness, as if he could bite into it like a peach.

***

Was that him? It was almost as if he was outside himself, watching a blond Man eat, swim, hold his wife in his arms, lie half-sleeping in the sun, an easy unthinking pleasure.

Sometimes Idril cried. Sometimes she stroked his hair, and talked to him, pausing as if he would answer. Once or twice, his grandson came and sat with him, and talked quietly and reassuringly; or sang, a little. He did not quite understand it, but he liked to listen.

Aman was so beautiful. He felt as if he could go on and on there, forever.


End file.
